


Mood Lighting

by sassmaster_tiresias



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Jack Kelly is a Power Bottom, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, i'm not sure who i'm apologizing to but i feel like i should, they're married guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 20:45:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11905902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassmaster_tiresias/pseuds/sassmaster_tiresias
Summary: He tries to behave, he really does, but the way the light is coming at them from the computer screen is highlighting the planes of Crutchie’s face just right—leaving the hollows of his cheeks, the underside of his jaw, the creases of his nose, all in shadow.  Jack’s not sure if he wants to sketch him or kiss him.  But, since he can’t get at a sketchbook at the moment, that really only leaves him one option.





	Mood Lighting

**Author's Note:**

> Upon complaining to Ollie that there's no Crutchie smut in this fandom, his response was essentially "Write the smut you want to see in the world." Fine. I did. Here ya go.

When Jack gets home at eleven o’clock at night, he thinks at first that Crutchie has already gone to bed. All of the lights are off in their one room apartment and it seems silent as Jack opens the door. Then, he notices the glow of Crutchie’s laptop and the telltale sound of his husband’s fingers flying across the keys. It stops as Jack steps inside, Crutchie looking up to greet him with a tired smile.

“Welcome home,” Crutchie says, holding his hand out to Jack as he approaches. “How was Medda?”

Jack drops his bag in another chair and bends to kiss Crutchie on his smiling lips. “She’s good. Glad I finally finished that damn backdrop for her.” As he speaks, he’s already pulling his phone out to show Crutchie the pictures he took of his finished work. He leans on the back of Crutchie’s chair while he looks through the pictures, his cheek resting against Crutchie’s soft hair.

Crutchie zooms in on one picture of the forest scene that Jack had painted, trying to see all of the details. He’s sure that the phone camera and shitty backstage lighting aren’t doing Jack’s work any justice, but it’s beautiful even still. “It’s great, Jack!” he says, handing Jack’s phone back to him. “Didya eat at all?”

“Yeah, Medda fed me,” Jack says with a shrug. “But I skipped lunch, so I’m still starvin’.”

An exasperated sigh from Crutchie. “Jack, ya can’t just—”

“I know.” Jack kisses his cheek to silence him, then bends even lower and hides his face in Crutchie’s shoulder. “We was just real busy at the museum, gettin’ all the stuff unpacked and stocked for that new exhibit. I just lost track a time, Crutch, I swear.”

Crutchie slides his fingers into Jack’s hair, scratching gently at the nape of his neck. “I know. I saved ya some spaghetti.”

That perks Jack right up. He pecks Crutchie on the side of the head and is almost immediately digging around in the fridge. “Thanks, sweetheart, yer the best.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of Crutchie’s lips. “I know,” he says, and turns back to his computer to type a few more words while Jack clatters around looking for a fork.

“What’re ya writin’?” Jack asks around a mouthful of spaghetti. He drags a chair closer to Crutchie and flops down in it, legs splayed, his ankle knocking against Crutchie’s chair. He continues to shovel food into his mouth.

“Just that same thing I been workin’ on for a while now,” Crutchie answers. When Jack leans forward to see, he points to where it says ‘Page 92 of 107’ at the bottom of the screen. “Ya know, the one with the fairy prince an all that. I got a lot done tonight.”

Jack snorts around his fork. “Figures, without me here botherin’ ya the whole time.” He settles back into his own chair. “Will ya read it to me?”

“Sure!” Crutchie starts scrolling back up. “What part did we leave off at?”

“Think they was just startin’ to run away from that monster thing.”

Crutchie finds the place and starts reading from there, glancing over to see Jack’s reaction occasionally. As Jack finishes his meal and Crutchie continues to read, Jack keeps moving his chair closer and closer, losing himself in his husband’s voice and his desire to be closer until eventually the two of them are just sitting in the same chair, Crutchie perched in Jack’s lap with Jack’s arms around his waist. Jack rests his chin on Crutchie shoulder and looks at the screen, even though he’s not even trying to read along.

Once he’s finished, Crutchie turns his head towards Jack so that their noses are almost touching. “That’s all I got,” he says. “Whadya think?”

“It’s great, just like always,” Jack says. He tilts his chin up, pressing his lips to Crutchie’s briefly.

Crutchie can’t help his blush at the compliment. He turns back to the computer, fingers poised on the keys. “I was gonna write some more, but if you wanna go to bed, I’ll stop.”

Jack scooches the chair closer to the table so Crutchie can reach better, then settles back in the seat with his arms still around Crutchie. “Nah, you go ahead. I’m perfectly fine right here.”

He tries to behave, he really does, but the way the light is coming at them from the computer screen is highlighting the planes of Crutchie’s face just right—leaving the hollows of his cheeks, the underside of his jaw, the creases of his nose, all in shadow. Jack’s not sure if he wants to sketch him or kiss him. But, since he can’t get at a sketchbook at the moment, that really only leaves him one option.

As Jack’s lips attach to his neck, Crutchie sighs, but continues trying to write. When Jack leans in closer, though, and is able to reach that spot just at the top of Crutchie’s collarbone that always gets him, Crutchie’s breath stutters and his fingers freeze on the keys.

“I thought you was goin’ to let me work,” Crutchie says, but he hasn’t started typing again.

“Sorry,” Jack answers. “Ya just look so damn pretty.” He goes for that same spot again, nipping at it this time, and Crutchie practically melts into his chest.

With that, the last of Crutchie’s resolve flies out the window. He reaches up and over his own shoulder, grabbing Jack by the chin and dragging him in so that their lips meet. Jack’s grip on Crutchie’s waist immediately tightens. They go on like that for a while, Crutchie’s neck craned backwards to reach Jack, before Jack gets tired of the awkward angle and slides his hands to Crutchie’s hips.

“Turn around,” Jack says, barely pulling back from his husband’s lips. Crutchie’ grunts his agreement and lets go of Jack’s face.

Between Jack’s manhandling and some wriggling on Crutchie’s part, they manage to get Crutchie turned around so that they’re facing each other, Crutchie’s legs splayed on either side of Jack’s waist. With the better angle, Crutchie immediately grabs at Jack’s hair, running his fingers through it and making Jack’s scalp tingle. Jack pulls Crutchie forward by his hips. Crutchie gasps, as they’re pressed closer together.

“Love ya,” Jack says as his lips travel from Crutchie’s neck to his jawline, never really breaking contact. “So much.” He kisses tenderly at the hollow of Crutchie’s throat before biting down hard.

A shudder runs through Crutchie’s whole body at that, his fingers unwittingly pulling harder at Jack’s hair. “Fuck you, that’s gonna bruise,” he hisses, and in retaliation he rolls his hips, pressing down into Jack’s lap.

Jack cries out, but yanks on Crutchie’s hips to make him do it again. “Jesus Christ, Crutchie. Ya tryin’ to kill me?”

He can feel Crutchie’s smirk where his lips are pressed against Jack’s forehead. “Maybe,” Crutchie says, and this time when he rolls his hips, Jack’s first response is to grab the hem of Crutchie’s shirt and yank it off over his head.

While Jack goes to work kissing as much of Crutchie’s now-bare chest as he can reach, Crutchie watches, grinning. “Well that just ain’t fair,” he chuckles. Keeping one hand in Jack’s hair to steer him where he wants him, he slides the other in between them to search for bottom of Jack’s shirt. Once he’s got the edge of Jack’s Henley, he tugs at his white undershirt to untuck it, too. Only then does he let his fingers slide out of Jack’s hair, using both hands to wrestle the shirts off. Jack grudgingly leans away from Crutchie for a moment, before swooping back in and going directly for Crutchie’s nipple.

Crutchie arches his back towards Jack. “Alright, that’s it, help me up,” he huffs, struggling to talk with the way Jack’s rolling his nipple between his teeth.

Jack whines, rather than do as he’s told. At a stern, “ _Jack_ ,” from Crutchie, though, he sits back, removing his hands from where they were curled around Crutchie’s skinny chest.

At some point during all of the seat switching and subsequent making out, Crutchie’s crutch got moved to the other side of the table. Carefully, Jack lifts Crutchie off his lap and supports him as they both stand. They navigate the five steps to their bed together, and as soon as Crutchie can plant a hand on the mattress, he pulls himself up. “Take your pants off,” Crutchie commands, scooting backwards until his back is against the wall.

“Feelin’ bossy, are we?” Jack teases, but does as he’s told. He looks Crutchie in the eye as he undoes his button and zipper, but the subsequent undignified hopping it takes to get his skinny jeans off is significantly less sexy. They both laugh, even as Crutchie holds his hand out and beckons Jack closer.

Jack crawls forward on his hands and knees, looming down at Crutchie. Crutchie tilts his face up to meet Jack’s lips, resting his hands on Jack’s cheeks. After a moment, though, he pushes Jack away by the shoulders. Jack looks at him, confused, but Crutchie just moves his hands to Jack’s hips and pulls him forward until Jack’s knees are on either side of Crutchie’s legs and Crutchie is at eye level with Jack’s dick.

Thumbs stroking Jack’s hip bones, Crutchie looks up at his husband with one raised eyebrow. “This alright?” he asks.

“ _Hell_ , yes,” Jack breathes. He runs the fingers of one hand back through Crutchie’s hair, pushing the blonde strands off his forehead. The other, he braces on the wall above Crutchie’s head.

That’s all the encouragement that Crutchie needs. He’s done this enough times at this point that he just takes Jack all the way into his mouth immediately. Hands flat against the small of Jack’s back to keep him in place, Crutchie hollows his cheeks, trapping Jack between the suction on his cock and the pressure on his back.

Crutchie pulls off slowly, dragging his lips up the length of Jack’s dick and making Jack shudder. He licks at the head. The whole time, Jack’s fingers are curled loosely at the back of Crutchie’s head, barely even holding onto his hair. Crutchie pulls off completely, looking up at Jack from within the cage of his arms.

“Come on, Kelly,” he taunts, “I know ya got more in ya than that.”

Jack looks a little uncertain at first, but when Crutchie grins and gives the head of Jack’s cock one little flick with his tongue, Jack crumbles. He fists his hand in the longer hair at the crown of Crutchie’s head. Crutchie’s grin only widens.

Making sure his grip is tight enough that he’s not ripping at Crutchie’s hair, Jack pushes and pulls Crutchie’s head up and down on his dick. By now, he can barely control the moans that tumble out of his mouth between panted breaths. Crutchie’s not much better off, spit dripping down his chin as he whimpers around Jack’s dick. Whenever Jack’s movements falter enough that he’s still for a second, Crutchie sucks as hard as he can.

“Charlie,” Jack gasps, his forearm against the wall the only thing keeping him from collapsing. “Sweetheart, I’m gonna…” Unable to finish the thought, he simply begins to pull Crutchie off of himself. Crutchie refuses, though, dragging Jack’s hand with him as he stubbornly takes Jack all the way in once more.

Jack comes with a sound somewhere between a shout and a sob, folding forward above Crutchie’s head. Crutchie swallows until Jack is spent, then carefully maneuvers Jack into a sitting position across his lap while Jack catches his breath. Jack’s fingers, still threaded through Crtuchie’s hair, stroke slowly as he breathes heavily against Crutchie’s neck.

Once Jack’s come back to his senses, he sits up and looks at Crutchie, who’s still smiling at him lovingly. “You good there?” Crutchie asks, a bit of a giggle in his voice. 

“Yeah.” Jack kisses his cheek. “What about you?” Before Crutchie can even speak, Jack glances down, answering his own question at the sight of Crutchie’s tented pajama pants. Jack lets his hand fall on Crutchie’s thigh.

“I’m—I’m fine,” Crutchie tries to assure him, although the stutter says otherwise. “You don’t gotta worry about—” He breaks off as Jack slides his hand over and grinds his palm down onto Crutchie’s dick.

“What was that?” Jack asks smugly. He cups his hand around Crutchie’s crotch, squeezing just enough to tease him. Crutchie whimpers, bucking his hips forward into Jack’s touch. Jack kisses his forehead before pulling away.

“Come on an lay down here, sweetheart, I gotcha,” Jack says sweetly. By now, Crutchie’s laptop has long gone to sleep, leaving them lit only by the diffused streetlights that manage to sneak through the blinds. It’s just enough light that Jack can make out the way Crutchie bites his own lip as Jack directs him to lie back on their giant pile of pillows. He gasps at the drag of fabric over his cock as Jack pulls his pajama pants and boxers off for him.

Crutchie watches as Jack tosses the last of his clothes off into the darkness of the apartment. Then, Jack leans across Crutchie, reaching for the drawer in the bedside table. Crutchie runs the flat of his palm up the curve of Jack’s spine as Jack digs around in the drawer, making Jack shiver despite himself.

“Knock that off,” Jack says as he sits back again, already flipping the cap on their lube. “It’s your turn, Charlie, just lemme take care a ya.”

“You don’t gotta do that Jack, I just wanted to…” All of Crutchie’s protests die as Jack squeezes a healthy dollop of lube onto his own fingers and reaches around behind himself. Crutchie can’t really see what’s going on back there, but from the way Jack’s face convulses and then smoothes out, he’s pretty sure he can guess. He’s put that look on Jack’s face enough times to be sure.

Instead, Crutchie grabs a random throw pillow and tucks it under the knee of his bad leg. “I could do that for ya,” he offers, eyes never leaving Jack’s face.

Jack shakes his head. “Nah,” he gasps. His voice is tight when he speaks. “I’m almost ready, just gimme a sec.” He wasn’t really going for it, but as Jack slips a second finger into his own hole, he accidentally brushes against his prostate. He can’t help the shudder that overtakes him, despite the fact that he just came about two minutes ago.

A minute later, Jack determines himself to be ready and swings one leg across so that he’s kneeling astride Crutchie’s hips. Crutchie’s hands go automatically to hold onto Jack’s thighs. The muscles are already twitching beneath his fingertips.

“You ready?” Jack asks, already reaching down to grab hold of Crutchie’s dick.

Holding back a gasp, Crutchie nods. “Yeah, Jack. Are you?” He’s skeptical. Jack didn’t prep himself for very long.

Rather than answer, Jack lines himself up and sinks down onto Crutchie’s dick until his ass is flush with Crutchie’s hips.

Crutchie can’t keep from throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. Surely, there will be bruises on Jack’s thighs in the shape of Crutchie’s fingers. Oh well, won’t be the first time, won’t be the last. “Yep, you’re ready,” Crutchie grits out between clenched teeth.

Jack actually laughs at that. He plants his hands on his own knees for balance and says, “Yeah, ya think?” He stops his joking there, though, as he then rises up until Crutchie has almost slipped out of him, before slamming back down even faster than before. Crutchie practically screams.

It doesn’t take long before Crutchie is writhing beneath him, seeming like he’s trying to get away while also trying to get closer. At some point, his hands migrated down until they were intertwined with Jack’s. “Jack, I’m close,” he whimpers. And then just, “Jack.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Jack says. He squeezes Crutchie’s left hand and raises it to his lips as he grinds down onto him yet again. He presses a kiss to Crutchie’s wedding ring, his own bouncing against his bare chest where is hangs on its chain. “Go on, Charlie, I gotcha.”

That seems to be all Crutchie needs to hear, as his whole body goes tense and then Jack can feel him finishing. He rolls his hips gently until Crutchie is completely spent, then gets up off of him. Jack lies down beside his husband, rubbing Crutchie’s bad thigh so that the convulsions don’t turn into painful spasms.

When Crutchie’s breathing has gone back to something resembling normal and Jack can feel the muscles in his leg start to uncoil, Jack pushes himself up and begins to climb out of the bed. Crutchie whines and grabs at him with an insistent, “No!”

Already half rolled out of bed, Jack kisses Crutchie’s forehead and says, “I’m just goin’ to get somethin’ to clean us up with. I’ll be right back.” With that, he slips away.

On his way back from the bathroom, Jack grabs the crutch from by the table and brings it over, leaning it in its usual spot so Crutchie will be able to get up in the morning.

“Thanks, Jack,” Crutchie mumbles as Jack climbs back into the bed.

Jack gently wipes Crutchie clean with a damp cloth. “Of course,” he says. Once he’s satisfied, he chucks the washcloth towards the kitchenette, and hears the wet smack of it landing solidly in the sink.

“Ew!” Crutchie laughs. “We cook in there.”

“I’ll clean it out in the morning,” Jack promises. He flops down next to Crutchie, arms held open so that Crutchie can shuffle in closer. Once they’re settled, Crutchie’s head pillowed on one of Jack’s arms, the other thrown across Crutchie’s chest, Jack pulls the sheets and blankets up over them.

“Love you so much, Jack,” Crutchie says, although the words slur together in his state of half sleep.

Jack presses a kiss to Crutchie’s temple. “Love ya, too, sweetheart.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so modern AU, I see Jack as working at the gift shop in the MoMA during the day, and at night working on backdrops for Medda, political cartoons for Pulitzer, and doing whatever other commissions he can get. Meanwhile, Crutchie works at a daycare and is an aspiring fantasy writer.
> 
> Jack's probably like 24 here, and Crutchie is 23. They're married and love each other very much.


End file.
